"Why do you need to get those blue glowy things?"

"Because."

"Because why?"

"Because then I get more lives."

"Why do you need more lives? Can't you continue after you die?"

"Yeah, but--"

"Why are there coins? Do you get to buy stuff?"

"No, those coins aren't coins, they give me energy."

"Why?"

"They just do."

"That's stupid."

The iconography of a platformer has always been terribly esoteric, resulting in the sort of gamer/non-gamer discussions as detailed above. You pick up hidden items that, for one reason or another give you additional health, power, weapons, money, etc., hopping and jumping your way from point A to point B, avoiding enemies strewn in your way. In Super Mario Bros., arguably the first 'modern age' platformer, these icons ranged from a mushroom that doubled your size (hey, it worked for Alice) to flowers that bestow the ability to shoot fire from your hands to the ubiquitous coins that, if enough are collected, inexplicably give you an extra life. That was back in 1985, and twenty years later the language of the platformer hasn't changed much: we still have nebulous, unmotivated icons with only a tertiary relationship to the game's environment, visual symbols that would confuse anyone not already familiar with the genre's vernacular. In other words, we're still collecting the same mushrooms, flowers and coins, requiring a glance at a manual to decipher why they're there and, if you're lucky the manual will actually tell you what they do. Psychonauts says nuts to that. As a platformer with as much story as gameplay, it doesn't deviate from the platformer's typical gameplay conventions but attempts to form the scattershot elements into a cohesive whole that entertains all.

Most games don't deserve a solitary paragraph detailing the story, but Psychonauts merits, nay, requires it. Psychonauts is the tale of a young boy Razputin (or Raz for short) whom is bestowed with unusually potent psychic powers, powers that cause him to feel alienated and hated by his father. In order to prove to his dad (a tightrope performer) that he should be embraced by his family he runs away from home, the circus, to join the Whispering Rock Summer Camp for aspiring psychic soldiers, taught by world-renown Psychonauts Coach Oleander, Sasha Nein and Milla Vodello. Raz has just three days to become a Psychonaut before his father arrives at camp, and he's utterly determined to succeed in this crash course to advance his inner psychic. It's at this juncture in Raz's life where you take the reins and aid him in the many mind-trips it'll take to see him fulfill this dream.

As a Psychonaut-in-training, you'll steer Raz through a variety of psyches by utilizing a doorway into their soul. Each level is wildly different, focusing on the character you've jumped into and not just the whims of the level designer. When Raz discovers what makes Fred Bonaparte, an inmate at the local asylum, live up to his last name, you're already strategizing, playing the platform equivalent of a pencil & paper strategy game, hexagonal pieces, mini figurines and all. Similarly, when you enter the mind of a paranoid, conspiracy theory obsessed milkman you're treated to the world through his eyes: a freakishly warped series of 'perfect' suburban houses and properties, inhabited by shady individuals disguised as local inhabitants armed only with a solitary item, and an array of unconvincing (but hilarious) stereotypical dialogue to try and fade into the background. In yet another example, one moment has you acting as a director (of sorts) in the mind of a crazed washed-up actress, pushing Raz to orient the set, lighting and script in the right positions (literally, and figuratively) so you can 'take it to the next level' (again, literally and figuratively). These inspired levels allow Psychonauts to transcend the stereotypical 'elemental' level design (i.e. the typical fight through environments and enemies based around elements, fire, ice, wind, etc.) and orients the themes around, gasp, the actual characters in the game's world.

There's nothing arbitrary in Psychonauts, not the level design, not the character's actions, not even the quintessential levelling iconography that, in other games feel like the byproduct of a late night exquisite corpse. Levelling cards are described as scavenger-hunt items strategically placed by the camp headmasters. 'Emotional baggage' litters the minds of the characters Raz explores, as it does in anyone's mind. Raz's 'health meter' and 'lives' are explained as layers of mental abstraction (how deeply he's able to ingrain himself in a person's mind without being rejected), and even his 'ammo' is described as 'little balls of hate' that manifest themselves in the character's psyche (you know you have them too). Better yet, Raz's psychic powers also work on fundamentally different, and motivated levels. Raz's telekinesis allows him to target and toss anything around. Clairvoyance allows him to see the world through other's eyes, resulting in flashes of insight and humor. For instance, use clairvoyance on a theater critic and you'll see exactly how he views Raz, as a disappointing one and a half stars. Even the acquisition of these power upgrades are motivated: Raz receives each as a merit badge, an inspired real-life metaphor for his new abilities.

Psychonauts is a brilliantly realized universe, no doubt about it. Developer Double Fine have succeeded in marrying story with platforming in a way that isn't incoherent or poorly mapped out, where the environments are as much a part of the gaming experience as the story and game mechanics are. Instead of playing in a world where you have to learn new definitions for each platforming cliché, each of the power-ups, items and collectibles work naturally. Honestly, in this day and age where game consoles have the computational power to render just about anything in a semi-realistic (or at least, visually appealing) manner, why are platformers still using iconography instead of having realistic images representing the platforming staples, like other genres like adventure, stealth, sports, and so on have adopted? There are modern action games that still use nebulous icons for health, magic, experience, etc., via the common 'orb' which almost defies the definition of iconography, but the best excuses for such a use are: speed. When used in games like Devil May Cry, the orbs are ethereal pieces that want to be collected. Often they even hunt you out. In platformers, the exact opposite occurs; in the case of Super Mario Bros.'s mushrooms they actually slide away from you! These items often are meant to be retrieved, not unleashed.

It's possible that platforming as a genre is in its 'awkward teens' phase, and Mr. Schafer and Double Fine are booting them out of puberty. They've taken the inexplicable, specious icons out of platforming. They've given level design a new motivation, riffing off of the peculiarities of a character. Psychonauts is fantastical but yet grounded where the world feels whole, and that is the biggest lesson future platformer game developers can learn. Give us a world where the character's interaction with the environment matters, and is represented in the external surroundings. Let the items we have to pick up, utilize and collect be logical, cohesive extensions of the game's locale, economy, and culture. Psychonauts has shown that there's still plenty of vibrant possibilities in the platforming genre, now let's see others take this further.